This Twisted Path
by Laicamiel
Summary: Elizabeth's life is turned upside down with an act of terrifying violence. Determined to get revenge, she seeks out an old friend and forms a new alliance with him...and perhaps something more. Chapter 4 up! (finally)
1. Dread

**AN:** Hey guys! I edited out the little errors from this chapter that I noticed when I reread it. I wrote it in a program that didn't have spellcheck, so I missed some spelling errors. :o)

**Chapter One – Dread**  
  
Elizabeth Turner closed her eyes and leaned into the wind, smiling as it caressed her face and scattered her unbound hair. The past six months of her life had been a dream of happiness, a dream come into being, coalesced into flesh and blood. Into Will.  
  
She opened her eyes and looked out at the sparkling cerulean waters of the Caribbean. Will. His shy charm, his loyalty, his bravery, and the way he looked at her, like she was an unfathomable treasure, dropped from the heavens. The encompassing love he saw in those earnest blue eyes sometimes caused her heart to squeeze with something akin to pain. Lately, she woke gasping some nights, with the choking feeling that no time remained for them, that Will would be snatched away and she left behind, bereft, with her empty arms outstretched in supplication. She would be sweating from terrible dreams that she couldn't for the life of her remember. In the dark, they would threaten to crush her...but she would settle next to her husband, one hand entwined in his and the other cradling the new life growing within her, and drift back into slumber.  
  
Now, with the sun on her face and the bright freedom of the ocean surrounding her on all sides, the episodes she had been having for the last month seemed unreal and distant, and she dismissed them for the hundredth time as yet another of the emotional upheavals of her condition. She remembered the first month of her pregnancy with a wry smile, the alternating dramatic rages and maudlin weeping that had left will nonplussed and cautious. Now, as she was passing into her fourth month, the emotional pendulum had stopped swinging so far—and her nausea had also subsided, thank God—and all she felt was a pressing, irrational dread at 3 o'clock in the morning, banished by the reaching rays of the sun.  
  
She heard the sound of booted feet on the deck behind her and turned her head to see Will. "So Mrs. Turner, what do you think? Does it pass your lofty standards?" He spoke of the medium-sized pleasure vessel they traveled on, a beautiful boat gleaming with new paint, her name in swooping letters on the side: _The Lady Swann_. They were taking a holiday on its maiden voyage, christening it with their blossoming love, which seemed to them to beautify everything it touched.  
  
She grinned at him. "I think it'll do, Mr. Turner." She nudged him playfully, her eyes softening as she remembered the unveiling at Port Royal the previous evening, the surprise he had been so mysterious about for the past few weeks. Her birthday present. She almost hadn't wanted to look at it, so entranced was she by his face, excited anticipation and nervousness dancing across his handsome features. He had had to gently turn her chin with his finger, and she had gasped at the sight. It was red and white, sails snowy and graceful, decks polished to a gleaming chestnut. Now, as she stood at the rail with her husband's hand resting lightly around her waist, she felt tears prick the backs of her eyes anew at how much he loved to make her happy. She didn't deserve such unconditional regard—it was too much.  
  
Suddenly, a shout went up from their captain. Turning quickly to where he stood, the Turners saw a ship flying across the water towards them, impossibly fast. A ship with huge black sails, and a billowing black flag with a skull and crossbones insignia.  
  
Elizabeth felt a chill reach into her with icy fingers, unconsciously bringing up both hands to cover her slightly rounded abdomen. She and Will might be friends with Jack Sparrow and his ragtag band of buccaneers, but they were not ignorant of the threat of pirates on the open seas. And here they were, on a pleasure boat, dwarfed by the ominously massive pirate ship. Weaponless.  
  
It was over almost before her mind could process what had happened. The black-sailed ship anchored next to the _Lady Swann_ and fired cannonballs repeatedly into her graceful flanks. The beautiful boat splintered, and began to ride lower in the blue waters, a broken bird. Enraged at the destruction of the emblem of his love for Elizabeth, Will rashly drew his sword and advanced to where the pirates were lightly leaping onto the rapidly filling boat, body rigid with anger.  
  
"Will!" Elizabeth cried out when she recognized his intent, cold with fear. "Will, no, it isn't worth sacrificing your life for!" He appeared not to hear her, apparently deaf with fury and the burning need to obliterate the threat to his family, however hopeless his chances of success.  
  
Elizabeth's shoulders slumped and she closed her mouth in despair. He wasn't going to hear her, lost as he was in his own anguish. The tanned, dirty pirates were upon them in the next breath, the Turners' harmless captain motionless and bloody on the deck, Will fighting their leader, a dangerous-looking man with hair bleached almost silver by the sun and a large mole on his dark cheek. For a moment it seemed Will's superior swordsmanship would carry them through as he fended off one man, then two, but soon, all five of them converged on him, fighting dirty as pirates do. Elizabeth forgot to breathe as her fell unconscious to their feet, bleeding in three places. She looked on in desperation, mind blank with horror. That familiar dread rose up in her again, stronger than ever before, and she was sick with the dizzy certainty that she should have taken it seriously.  
  
The blond pirate turned around then, seeing Elizabeth, and a smile twisted his cruel mouth. "Well then, what have we here? Quite a little tidbit, aren't ye lass?" She flinched at this reminder of the same word issuing mockingly from Barbosa's lips. She had the sinking feeling that the two were alike in more ways than one.  
  
He advanced on her with danger in his dark eyes, taking in her beautiful face, her loose hair and her slim figure in chilling appraisal. His gaze stopped at her hands, which clutched her stomach with a desperate grasp now, and cocked an eyebrow. "What's this, Tidbit? Carryin 'is brat, are ye?" he said in a mockingly pleasant tone of voice. Stomach clenching with sudden foreboding, she watched him like a cornered mouse watching a cat, breath frozen in her throat. He laughed barkingly and turned away from her without another word and called to his crew members, who had been searching fruitlessly for valuables, to get back to the ship "and bring the Tidbit." The shattered _Lady Swann_ was sinking rapidly under the combined weight of eight people.  
  
The pirates' leader walked over to the Turners' captain, taking out a wicked-looking dagger, and casually slit the unconscious man's throat. Elizabeth fought the urge to retch, and stared in terror as he nimbly picked his way to where her husband lay. Just before he crouched down, Will stirred and opened his eyes, cloudy for a moment and then panicked, sitting up and looking for her. Their eyes met. "Elizabeth—" he gasped out. His body jerked as he was impaled on his own sword from behind, his life fading almost immediately and his gaze becoming empty. He slumped over.  
  
The silver-haired pirate rose, taking the sword with him and admiring the craftsmanship of the dripping red blade. "Think I'll keep this," he murmured as if he was having afternoon tea with his mum. He glanced up at Elizabeth then with his cruel eyes, and seeing her expression smiled with too many teeth. But she barely noticed, her attention frozen on the boy she had loved since childhood, the man she had been married to for six short months, hunched over in a pool of bloody water. A violent rage rushed up inside her, blinding her staring eyes as they leaked tears down her pale cheeks.  
  
She was jerked forward without warning, a rough hand on her arm. Someone threw her over to the pirate ship before she had time to react, where she landed hard on the deck. She stood slowly and turned to look at the _Lady Swann_ as she filled completely with seawater. The bodies of Will and the captain were no longer visible. She watched, transfixed against her will, as her smashed birthday present sank and disappeared under the water, until there was only the sea, brilliant and beautiful and endless.


	2. Fury

**AN:** Sorry about the delay, guys! I moved from North Carolina to Houston, Texas (more than a thousand miles!) and it's been crazy - hotel, apartment, now we're looking for a house, every day for the last week for 6-8 hours. Eeek.

I changed the rating to R because of the graphic, traumatic violence in this chapter - just to be safe. This was a harder chapter to write than the previous one. Let me know what you think. (Translation: Review!)

* * *

**Chapter Two – Fury  
**  
Elizabeth stared at the clouds as they passed overhead, lying lifelessly on the putrid deck of the pirate ship. She lolled from side to side as the vessel pitched and rolled, unaware of her surroundings, frozen.  
  
She felt numb in the place where Will had resided, the part of her heart that had been brutally ripped from her chest. She knew the pain would eventually come, that it would be horrific, debilitating.  
  
But for now there was only the anger.  
  
Rushing, incandescent rage that suffused her body and immolated her mind, burning away every thought except the repeating image of Will, jerking up from the floor, gasping her name, the silver sword plunging through him like lightning, extinguishing his life. The beautiful sword he had fashioned from his own hands and worn proudly every day, more as a symbol than a weapon. Again and again she watched the sword impale him, eyes smarting, unable to stop the endless reel in her head.  
  
And then there was another image. His murderer. The cold cruel eyes of the Satan-spawned pirate captain glowed in her addled brain, mockingly watching her like a cat waiting to corner a mouse. She felt something far beyond hate for the blond devil. Something so powerful, so malevolent, that it left her gasping half in panic, half in exhilaration.  
  
The feeling would have frightened her out of her wits, had she been in her right mind.  
  
Someone stepped over her with an irritated grunt, his grimy boot passing over her line of vision. Briny, smelly muck dripped onto Elizabeth's face, shocking a revolted shudder out of her. She realized she was wallowing on the slimy deck of a disgusting smelling pirate ship, in a very vulnerable position.  
  
She struggled up onto her elbows on the slippery black wood, then onto her knees. She had lifted one knee in preparation for rising when a shadow obscured the sunlight falling on her. She paused in surprise. Scuffed, wet boots, socks so dirty they would have stood up without the support of a leg, faded and frayed breeches that she could tell had once been blood red. She swallowed, then lifted her head proudly and rose, heart pounding.  
  
A bony hand clamped down on her shoulder like iron, roughly forcing her back down onto her knees. Elizabeth grunted as she hit the deck. She hated to look up at her harasser, but she glanced quickly to ascertain his identity.  
  
_The captain.  
_  
She wanted to sink down through the ship's deck, through the hull, into the sea to escape from his brutal gaze, but she fought the impulse and straightened in anger and offended dignity. She was not going to let this – swine – see that he had made her afraid.  
  
He moved closer to her and shifted his hand from her shoulder to her chin, caressing with a punishing grip, forcing her head back to an unnatural angle until Elizabeth could barely breathe, making her meet his eyes. She tried fruitlessly to escape his mastering grip, but the muscles in his wiry arm might as well have been made of steel for all she could move her head. She gnashed her teeth in impotent fury.  
  
He watched her in silence for a minute, his dark eyes unfathomable, opaque. She broke out in a clammy sweat, not knowing what to think of this new mood. It made her nervous.  
  
He smiled suddenly, chillingly, as if he knew a great joke. She furrowed her brow in confusion, heart slowly thudding. Something was off about that amused look on his face.  
  
A blur of motion at the corner of her eye caught her attention. She jerked her head to the side just in time to see his knee rapidly moving away from her; his leg switched direction and swung toward her swiftly. An instant of frozen horror blinked by as she saw his booted foot approaching her with terrifying speed.  
  
Impact. The pain was blinding, exploding out from her abdomen.  
  
She found herself on the deck, keening in agony, her body knotted into a fetal crouch. She rocked from side to side, arms wrapped tight around her midsection. She heard distant laughter through the thick haze enveloping her, the voice harsh and tinny.  
  
She felt the first cramp double her over, a pulling, knifing ache piercing her abdomen. The second one contracted her stomach sharply, and Elizabeth felt sick with the dawning realization of what was happening to her. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks as she felt the releasing sensation within her womb, a sudden dislodging of the burden she had carried so lovingly, and with such pride. She gave a great heaving sob as she felt the moisture seeping between her legs. She pressed her thighs together as if she could send it back in, feeling the hot stickiness on their insides.  
  
The nausea rose in her until it was unbearable, dizzying. Somehow she lurched to her knees and dragged herself to the rail, the wheeling motion of the ship making things worse. She retched over the side into the sloshing turquoise water, closing her eyes as the vomit hit the water with a slapping sound. Reaching under her skirt, she stuffed her petticoats between her legs to absorb the blood and collapsed on the deck.  
  
She slipped in and out of consciousness for the next few hours, hearing snippets of rough conversation and the lulling music of the ocean, the sound that had been her lullaby for the last nine years.  
  
_Pick 'er up ... it's bad luck women are, on a ship ... I ain't movin 'er, ye can stuff 'er in the brig yerself ... wake 'er up then ... she's sick, bleeding like a stuck pig, she is ... so what, wenches bleed all 'er time don't they ...  
_  
The words ran together in her brain before she could recognize them as more than varying sounds, blending, their meaning lost to her. A sudden sharp nudge in her shoulder jolted her unkindly from her adrenaline-induced haze. "Get up, Tidbit."  
  
She slowly opened her salt-encrusted eyelids, wincing at the now late- afternoon sunlight as it penetrated her irises. A dark shape was waving his hand rudely in front of her face.  
  
"Get up, now. You're goin' to the brig, see, and we ain't about to cart yer _stinkin' carcass_ over there!" He dragged her up by the arm to a hunched position that passed for sitting upright. "You didn't hear me, Tidbit? The Cap'n says..."  
  
"That'll be about right, Sweeney. Get out of my way," came an icy voice that penetrated even Elizabeth's fog. It was _him_. He bent close to her, his fetid breath blowing in her face, gold teeth glinting. "Is'at clear then? You get up and walk – now – or I will rearrange your bones this time."  
  
The threat in itself did not intimidate Elizabeth – she was more than ready to die – but the dangerous quality of his frozen voice told her that it would be simply idiotic to ignore his words. In a dream state, she staggered agonizingly to her feet, feeling something ripping inside her, and put one foot after another on the slippery deck as she followed the captain to the brig. She kept her eyes on the ground and concentrated on keeping the dizziness at bay.  
  
The brig was a hole in the deck floor right behind the wheel. He pushed her cruelly into the darkness and she fell hard to the bottom of the smelly damp space. The pirate captain turned away with a shuffle. Before he could walk away, Elizabeth called out, "Wait!" Her voice was rusty and weak, and at first she thought she had gone unheard. But the scuffling sound stopped and was replaced by absolute silence. She took this as assent and called out as loud as she could, "What is your name?"  
  
A pause. Then he spoke in that spine-chilling voice. "Bloody Silas."  
  
The boots started moving again, the shuffling sound falling away into silence as he left the brig entrance. Elizabeth shivered and curled up in the highest corner of the small, flooded cell, where the water was only about three centimeters deep, passing the time before they reached shore, and an opportunity for escape, by imagining various creative methods of brutal torture being performed on the man who had erased her family.

* * *

To my lovely reviewers: 

**OpraNoodlemantra:** Wow! My first reviewer ever on this website! Thank you! Yeah, I felt bad for Will too, but that entire chapter just spilled out without a pause. Inspiration I guess you could call it :/. I know, this one's depressing too, but I'm laying the foundation for the action and character development coming up. Plus I'm trying to be as realistic as possible. Love more feedback. :o)

**WolviesLover:** Aww, thank you. How sweet. Hopefully this chapter didn't disappoint. I know it's very...heavy, but it'll get less intense in upcoming chapters if you don't like that. I would welcome constructive criticism. Thanks for the pick-me-up! :o)

To all my readers, if I'm fortunate enough to have them, thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed. Review for quicker updates!


	3. Delirium

Sorry about the delay, guys. I just want to let you know that I have been very sick for about two years now, and I have my good and bad days. On bad days my mind is completely gone and I can barely get out of bed. So if I don't update for a while sometimes, that's the reason. Don't be mad! Thanks to all of my reviewers, you guys are the rockingest. Much love!

Oh, and by the way, I'm totally stealing the characters and setting. Just in case you were wondering. :o)

* * *

**Chapter 3 – Delirium  
**  
Elizabeth opened her eyes to almost total blackness, shaking and sweating, her vision fading in and out. Shivering in her wet clothes, she noticed that in contrast to its earlier rolling, pitching motion, the ship was now rocking gently. 

_Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap!  
_  
The noise was coming from the deck above her, sharp and loud in her ears. It sounded like the ceiling was going to fall down on her, crushing her under the debris, cutting off the light and air that was just above it, yet seemed hundreds of leagues too distant... She realized that this was the noise that had interrupted her slumber, restless as it had been.

"Oy, wench, get up. We's 'ere." A head blocked the light for a moment.

They had reached land! Elizabeth grinned in delirious excitement. Of course, they were docked; that explained the change in the ship's motion. This was her chance, probably her single, solitary chance before they locked her up and did God knows what to her. She was suddenly too tired to speculate on what that might be.

The tapping came again. "I said get up. Don't make me 'ave to call the Cap'n now," the anonymous pirate said grimly.

She swallowed at this reminder of Bloody Silas. Looking up at the small visible patch of sky, she decided to play up her injury as much as she could, feign weakness so that they would underestimate her. Then—she would catch them unawares, make her escape before they had a chance to react!

It was foolproof. She smiled.

She called up faintly, "I can't climb up, I haven't the strength. I've lost too much blood."

The faceless pirate grumbled at this and walked away, leaving Elizabeth in silence. He returned shortly and a heavy rope ladder came hurtling down, narrowly missing her head.

She grabbed a rung that was level with her chin in one hand and hoisted herself up—or at least tried to. She swayed on her feet, her skirts heavy with water, feeling dizzy.

Realizing with vague alarm that she actually was extremely weakened, she considered for the first time that this miscarriage might very possibly kill her. Medicine was advancing rapidly these days in England, but the islands of the Caribbean weren't exactly awash with qualified doctors, and it was not uncommon for a woman to bleed to death after losing her baby.

She saw herself floating in the dimness, hazy and insubstantial, grey, staring back at her with dead eyes...the specter held a dead baby in her arms, small and shriveled, obviously underdeveloped...she blinked, horrified, and it was gone, but she could still see those empty eyes and the chill of their blank gaze on her...

She shook her head, filled her aching lungs with the fishy-smelling air and banished the image from her mind. _The next step. Think about the next step._ Gathering her courage, Elizabeth grabbed her sodden skirts in one hand and the rung next to her head with the other, picked up one foot, and placed it on the bottom rung. Bracing herself, she pulled her body up.

She almost fainted from the effort, and the pain. Trembling and gasping, she almost lost her grip on the ladder. _Look here, Elizabeth Turner,_ she told herself in sudden annoyed clarity. _You're going to do this because you've no other choice. So buck up and stop being such a pansy.  
_  
With renewed determination, she stepped up to the next rung, shifted her weight, and pulled herself up. She blocked out the pain by sheer force of will, running solely on adrenaline now. The metallic taste was on her tongue. _Step, shift, hoist. Step, steady, hoist. Step, shift, hoist_. Her lungs burned, and so did her calves. Her head pounded and white spots appeared at the edge of her field of vision. She lost count of the steps, and the rungs seemed to stretch upward into infinity.

Suddenly a grimy hand was thrust in front of her face. She stared at it dumbly until she saw that it was outstretched, reaching. Grabbing onto it in hysterical relief, she let herself be pulled up out of the dank hellhole that had been her prison for the last few days.

He dropped her as soon as her feet touched the deck and she landed in an ungraceful heap at his feet, tears on her flushed face. The words "thank you" came to her lips, but she bit them back just in time. This man was a pirate, she seemed to remember, scum on the shoes of humanity like the rest of the crew.

The crew that killed Will and destroyed their child.

She staggered in agony to her feet and looked up at her jailer. He was disturbingly ordinary-looking. Reddish-brown hair, millions of freckles on a sunburned young face, faded blue eyes that regarded her with a singular expression. It could almost be described as...pity, sympathy...even a rough sort of kindness? No, absolutely not kindness. Surely he was incapable of it. But she found that he did not inspire the instinctive revulsion in her that certain others of the crew did.

He looked away from her quickly, almost guiltily, and said, "Cap'n says you's to be taken ashore." He looked up when she gave no sign of hearing him. She grimaced weakly at him.

"I'm very weak," she said faintly. "I lost my baby. I need a moment to collect my strength." This last part she said a little challengingly.

He gave her a sharp glance, then nodded once. She sighed and sat down next to the mast, leaning against its broad base and closing her eyes in weariness. She really was tired. She woke to find herself swaying upside down, the ground receding below her. The view of the shifting dirt combined with her motion made her stomach twist in protest. Elizabeth realized she had been thrown over someone's shoulder. She stiffened at the physical contact with a member of Bloody Silas' hated band. Looking at her captor's pants, she let out a relieved breath as she noted that they were blue, not crimson; the arm that was wrapped around the backs of her legs was not that of Bloody Silas. She closed her eyes and relaxed her body, hoping he would not realize that she was awake.

The temporary well-being caused by her period of rest was quickly fading. She started shivering, temples pounding. The rush of blood to her head caused by her awkward position was only making it worse. Unsure how much longer she could keep up the pretense, she nonetheless tried to relax her shoulders to stop the shivers before they got stronger. Suddenly she heard a rough, familiar voice.

"You've been carryin' the wench for fifteen bloody minutes," growled Silas. "Just drop'er carcass in the dirt. She'll get the idea." Great, thought Elizabeth as a hysterical laugh threatened to bubble up. Just when I had almost gotten the shivers under control.

"I don't mind the load," said the voice from above her calmly.

"What are ye Abel, some kind of prissy _nancy-boy_ in tight white breeches?" The other men laughed uproariously at this.

Abel stiffened. "Seein' as she's fevered an' weak an' it ain't her fault, I figures I can carry her a little ways. It is cause o' us she's in this state."

Dead silence. "You accusin' me of somethin' boy?" said Silas dangerously. "If ye'are, say it plain now."

Elizabeth felt Abel's racing heart through her dress. Taking a deep breath, he said in a slightly unsteady voice, "No, Cap'n. I just...she'll slow us down. I know ye're in a hurry."

There was a pause, then Silas barked, "What are ye lookin' at, ye filthy buggers? Move!" With shuffling feet, the group started walking once again.

Elizabeth didn't know what to think of this evidence of consideration from Abel, even to the extent of him challenging Bloody Silas, whom he was obviously terrified of. Deciding to test his loyalty, she wiggled a bit to let him know she was awake.

"Are ye all righ'?" he whispered to her.

She breathed in relief; he apparently wasn't going to give her away.

"Better than before. Where are we?"

"Well..." he hesitated.

"What does it matter, I'll find out soon enough regardless. I just want the knowledge. It would be a small comfort."

"Tortuga, then." Elizabeth felt a frisson of excitement. _Tortuga!_ She knew of Tortuga! In fact, Jack Sparrow and his crew were here often; it was their base of operations, or at least had been. Surely it wouldn't have changed in a mere six months? In any case, someone here would know of Jack, would have some kind of word of the Black Pearl.

She felt the fuzzy, lightheaded feelings start to dissipate.

It was time to formulate a plan.

* * *

**OpraNoodlemantra:** You go girl! He definitely deserved that kick! Yes, ahem, well...definitely our lovely Jack will be showing up soon...but I won't give anything away. Thanks for the good wishes. Yes, Silas will definitely get his due, but we might have to wait a little while... ;o) 

**carby luva 313:** It gets better, don't worry. Thanks for reading!

**WolviesLover:** Thank you! Yeah, that's one of the things that irks me about a lot of fics. They just move unrealistically fast. I'm trying to keep the realism of both the characters and the setting, as well as the pacing. Hope you like this one:o)


	4. Escape

Hey guys—I'm so, so sorry about the delay; for a while I had the first part written, but it was so uninspired, and I had some minor writer's block. Then I got caught up in my other serious fic, and it kind of sucked me in. I've also been having some bad days lately (long term illness...).

I probably could have had this chapter out sooner, but it would have been mediocre at best. Even this...it was difficult, and I'm still not sure what I think of it. Please forgive me.

* * *

**Chapter Four – Escape**

The metal door clanged shut jarringly followed by the final click of a padlock.

Elizabeth met Abel's gaze through the grimy bars. He grimaced and motioned at the cramped cell, the low stone ceilings and rough walls, weeping in the damp air.

"I know it ain't much, but I got ye yer own cell. This way ye won't be bothered." He looked as if he regretted not being able to do more. Elizabeth sighed in resignation. He was trying.

"Thank you." He looked up at this, quite surprised. "Tell me," she blurted abruptly, "what hold has the captain over you? What do you owe him that he may intimidate you so? Can you not escape?" She saw in his eyes she had gone too far, and bit her lip in chagrin. He stood stiff in front of her, concentrating intensely on the rusted loop of metal that secured the cell door.

"I don't wish to escape," he said finally. He turned and left without another glance at her.

She kicked the iron bars in frustration, then cringed in pain. She might as well be barefoot for all the protection her delicate lady's slippers afforded her. Clutching her toes in one had, she slumped half-down the wall (she wasn't far gone enough yet to risk the vile-looking floor).

Now she was really done for. Not only was she locked up as securely as a lunatic in Bedlam, but she had successfully alienated her solitary—questionable to say the least—ally among the crew.

"Bugger." The word burst up from her tongue and onto the air, deliciously shocking.

Things were looking worse and worse. She realized with sudden clarity that she had spent the last few days in a delirious fog induced by fever and injury, and any brilliant plans hatched in said state of mind would have to be thoroughly scrapped.

All her vaunted courage and false energy melted out of her in a rush, leaving her limp and defeated.

Dropping her head into her hands, Elizabeth finally let herself cry.

It started as a trickle, each tear squeezed out of her with painful pressure, but soon increased to a torrent as she cried for her husband and his broken gift, the child that could have been his legacy, the loss of their future, the cruel ripping away of her dreams of motherhood.

She cried for everything, and after a while because she had nothing.

Her fists clenched so tightly the nails pierced her palms, she tasted the salt on her lips, the salt that had become the mainstay of her existence this past week, from the sea and from tears. Her hair fell over her face, heavy and unwashed, making her face itch, and her dress was stiff and chafing from seawater.

Elizabeth barely noticed the physical discomfort. She curled up and fell hard sideways, losing her breath when she hit the weeping stone floor.

As she lay there and tried to cry again through her headache, she saw not her cramped two-yard square cell but the face of her dead love, and she felt a bitter cold bite at her bones as it slowly enveloped her.

She was ice, inside and out.

* * *

Someone was shaking her. Elizabeth made a protesting noise.

"Lass," came a harsh whisper. "Wake up, lass!"

She came awake abruptly, sitting up stiffly and squinting in the darkness. She stood up from her position on the floor. "Abel?"

"Aye, tis I." His features were blurred in the darkness, only the whites of his eyes clear. He moved closer, so they were eye to eye through the rusted bars. He was breathing shallowly, quickly.

"Listen now. I found a way for ye to escape."

Elizabeth jumped in sudden excitement. "You did? What is it?" her voice came out in a hoarse squeak.

"Quiet! I ain't supposed to be down 'ere!" he hissed sharply at her.

Elizabeth bit her lip and nodded. "What's the plan then?"

A jingle sounded in the darkness as he held up his fist, showing her a ring of heavy keys. "I'll unlock yer cell now, but don't leave yet." He looked sharply at her as he said this. "the Cap'n an' I are going out in a little bit. Ye'll wait an hour an' leave quietly. Lock the door behind ye."

She nodded. "I understand. That way they won't suspect you of helping me."

He handed her a wrapped bundle through the bars. "There's some dinner, I 'spect ye's hungry." Elizabeth took it gratefully.

"Thank you for all your help, Abel. Have you heard tell of a man named Jack Sparrow?" She could almost feel him tense.

"Aye."

"Is he here in Tortuga, do you know?" She pushed the hope down fiercely.

"Maybe."

Drunk with excitement, she gave no thought to Abel's monosyllabic answers. "He is?! Where can he be found? Is there an inn where he's staying?"

"He stays sometime at the Drunken Sailor tavern. But t'ain't no place for a lady."

"Oh, Abel. I may be a lady, but that doesn't mean I'm always ladylike." She laughed hollowly. "Thank you ever so much. I know I can never repay you, but if there is ever anything I can do for you, do not hesitate to ask. My name is Elizabeth Swann Turner and I live in Port Royal, of which my father is the governor. He will be most grateful to you for saving his daughter's life."

He looked down. "I didn't save yer life. I just...I've seen what he does to wenches—er, women—an' I reckon he's hurt ye enough." She could sense his embarrassment at what must have been rare praise for a man like him.

"Yes, well...you're a good man, Abel." She grinned cheekily. "For a pirate, that is."

That earned a small smile from the taciturn man. "Goodbye, then, lass." He looked at her seriously, all traces of amusement vanished. "You be careful now."

Elizabeth nodded, her smile wiped clean. "I will. Farewell."

He gave a sharp nod, then turn and walked away from her, worn boots swishing on the stone floor.

Elizabeth looked thoughtfully after him for a moment, then tucked voraciously into her meal. Finishing quickly, she settled in for the wait.

* * *

She waited past when she thought it had been an hour, unsure of her ability to measure time in a sunless cell, practically twitching with energy.

Rising, she went to the iron bars and peered into the gloom, trying to ascertain whether or not she was being guarded. A great lump of snoring male caught her attention just beyond the edge of the door. She exhaled in satisfaction. This was almost too easy.

Reaching one slim hand through the bars, she pulled down the heavy square bottom of the padlock, which scraped open quietly. She put the freed lock in a petticoat pocket and grasped the heavy rusted bars in both hands. _Lord,_ i_f you're listening right now, please give me a head start_, she thought with a glance heavenward. A grit of her teeth, a push, and an alarming groan as the metal doors grated against each other.

Elizabeth stopped breathing, letting go of the door, which swung out the rest of the way with a quiet squeak. Not daring to move, she darted her gaze over to the sleeping guard, who was miraculously undisturbed. She drooped in relief, shaking violently.

She stepped out into the dank corridor of the underground jail and swung the cell door closed again. Quickly, before she lost her nerve, she gave the bars a mighty push and winced as it clanged into place.

An arrested snort—a low grunt echoed in the stone hallway as the guard fell of his chair. Elizabeth jumped, her heart beating rapidly after the initial blind terror. She ran, bare feet scraping the rough stone floor. She navigated the dim hallway, stumbling a few times and actually falling once at a particularly narrow spot. The guard was gaining on her; she could hear his heavy breathing behind her. She finally came to an uneven staircase and stumbled up it, stubbing her toe and grimacing without pause, her steps quicker and more unstable as her panic escalated.

Suddenly she was in the open air, sun blinding after all that dank dungeon air. She heard the portly guard falter behind her in the afternoon light, and trusting her instincts, she darted down the street, weaving in between drunks and prostitutes, and leering men in once-stylish foppish clothes. She ignored them all and concentrated on evading her pursuer. She glanced back at him, and realized with shock that he was almost upon her. Thinking quickly, she plunged he hand into her pocket and brought out the heavy padlock, spinning around and throwing it hard into the guard's face,

He howled. She ran as if the devil was on her heels, success giving her new energy. Looking back again, she saw that he was slowing, panting and out of breath from all the extra weight he carried, cursing at her, exerting himself in the hot sun. Yet he did not stop. Elizabeth redoubled her efforts and ran a few more yards, and then without warning ducked into a dark shop.

It was pitch dark inside to her noon-burned eyes. She waited a few beats, then peered out again into the alley.

The man was nowhere to be found.

Taking a breath, she pulled her head back in, deciding not to risk discovery yet. She looked inquisitively around to see what kind of a place she had landed herself in.

A lone woman sat at the cashier's counter, stern-faced and suspicious. Glancing around her at the shop's dusty shelves, which were stuffed with all kinds of unrecognizable paraphernalia, she walked warily over to the proprietress. The woman had a dark, heavy face, thick jet eyebrows that overshadowed her hooded eyes. She was dressed shabbily, in many layers of mismatched clothing.

Elizabeth, curiously taking a closer look at the wares on the counter, recoiled in shocked disgust.

Floating in jars were several dismembered body parts, most of which were too small to have come from humans—although she wasn't convinced about some of them. Heart pounding, she stepped away from the woman, who had yet to say a word, and scrutinized the contents of the rough-hewn shelves. She saw jars of various herbs and solutions in odd colours, of carefully preserved insects and other...items...that her eyes darted quickly over, a nauseous feeling in her stomach.

Elizabeth looked back at the woman, whose head was wrapped in a faded blue kerchief, obscuring her hair; feathered bone pierced her ears and nose, as well as her bottom lip. With her hair concealed, she could have been anywhere from thirty to sixty, having that ageless look of natives to the Caribbean Isles.

Elizabeth had the dawning realization that she stood in front of a witch, a female shaman. She swallowed; they were said to have mystical powers, these women, and while Elizabeth had never put any stock in the raving tales of drunken sailors, she felt a sudden dryness in the back of her throat at the eerie glint in the woman's coal-coloured eyes.

She gathered her courage and approached the woman once more. She noticed with a start that the woman did indeed have the marks of long age upon her face; they simply faded in the dim shadows of the shop.

"I don't suppose you speak English?" she said a bit hopelessly, faced with a formidable wall of silence.

"I speak," said the woman, in a low, rich voice, like dark honey.

Elizabeth bit her lip, flushing slightly. Her eyes skittered nervously over the dusty surfaces of the table. "Yes well, I... I wonder if you could direct me to—"

"You have lost your daughter," the voice interrupted her with a measured cadence.

Elizabeth gasped and doubled over, the colour struck from her face, white and shaking. She stared dumbly at the witch-woman, eyes wide and glassy with shock. "How did you...?" Her voice was a choked, dead thing. _Her daughter...it was a girl?_ Elizabeth shook her head in violent denial, refusing to believe the witch's tall talles.

"She has been taken from you," the woman said with great sorrow. Elizabeth was shocked beyond words, both at the woman's unearthly knowledge and the sudden sympathy in the woman's ere now inscrutable face. "You seek revenge, do you not?" came a sudden low whisper. "You wish to cause them pain, those who wronged you." Elizabeth's heart began beating rapidly in her chest, a feeling of fright and panic overtaking her. _How did she know?_ She started backing away slowly, eyes glued to the witch woman's suddenly flaming ones, guarding against any sudden movements.

The woman laughed suddenly, unexpectedly deep and beautiful. It was soothing somehow, almost motherly, although Elizabeth hadn't felt a mother's touch in so long that her estimation of it was shaky at best. She took a sobbing breath. "Regardless of whether or not you are correct—" she paused and closed her eyes—"I have yet to grieve properly, and am...b-bereft of my family, and I would ask you to direct to me to friend." Feelin suddenly lost and alone, she looked with apprehensiion at the powerful woman in her deceptively dilapidated surroundings, hoping against hope that sometime soon she would be able to find rest in the familiar arms of friendship.

The woman regarded her a moment. Then, "Speak."

"He is staying at the Drunken Sailor." The shaman's eyes narrowed in disapproval.

"No place for girls like you." Elizabeth frowned, irritated, as the woman went on, "Who do you seek?"

"His name is Captain Jack Sparrow; his ship is the Black Pearl. It berths here from time to time..." she trailed off at the sharp glint of recognition in the woman's shining black eyes.

"I know Jack Sparrow. He is in Tortuga."

Elizabeth's breath came out in a sigh; her body slumped with intense relief. The witch pursed her lips. Elizabeth could have sworn the woman was fighting a smile as she stood and walked around her table to stand close.

The two women gazed at each other for a long moment, one old, one young, one deliberating, one waiting. One wise with the accumulated wrinkles of decades, and one in the full foolish bloom of youth despite her destroying grief. The shaman seemed to decide something, and the old lines of her face settled.

"I will bring him to you. Wait." With that she turned to go.

"What is your name?" Elizabeth blurted suddenly.

This time she did smile. "Oya." She nodded regally. "I will return."

With that she disappeared, and Elizabeth was left alone in the dusty half-light, feeling as if she had imagined the whole encounter.

* * *

Time passed and the shadows lengthened, golden afternoon light darkening to twilight, and still Elizabeth sat in silence, barely noting the passage of time.

She was turned inward, thinking of the carefree days she and Will had spent with Jack scant months before. Not even a year had passed since their madcap adventure, but those days of cursed Aztec gold and living dead men now seemed as fantastical and fake as a daydream. It had been a delirious interlude for Elizabeth—from the day she was introduced to the corset by her marriage-minded father, to the day Will presented her with the Lady Swann.

Gift to gift, a long dream of unnatural bliss, each present failing in its original purpose, with widely varying results. Even then, living it, she had known the joy was too pure, too sweet to last, and somewhere deep inside her she wasn't surprised. That nameless dread that had haunted her nights for the last month lay mockingly silent.

A sudden scraping sound roused Elizabeth from her reverie, and she raised her head, realizing of a sudden that she sat in gathering darkness. From the back of the shop came a loud thump, followed by the very colourful cursing of a very colourful man.

Elizabeth sat up straight in her rickety chair, recognizing the smooth voice. She heard the stike of a match, the flare of flame, and then two figures were walking toward her by lantern-light from the interior of the shop, one broad and brusque, the other tall and slim with a rolling, drunken gait that was oddly graceful—and to Elizabeth, achingly familiar. They came closer and she saw his handsome face lit by the golden glow of his lamp, that selfsame rakish grin lifting his features, gold teeth glinting. The light fell over her as he neared, and Elizabeth felt suddenly mortified as she realized what a state she must be in: knotted, filthy hair, torn dress crusted with dried blood and seawater, pale from blood loss and love loss. She looked down, away from those smiling dark eyes.

He dropped down next to her as Oya walked silently around lighting candles until not a single shadowy corner remained. Elizabeth stared about her in amazement, momentarily distracted. A laugh brought her attention back to the man who crouched before her on one knee, coffee-coloured eyes dancing in amusement. She saw a flash of gold in his mouth. "Her goddess," he gestured loosely around the shop, "wind and fire."

Elizabeth nodded slightly, bemused. He took in her appearance in the new light, and the smile dropped from his features. He frowned sharply at her through kohl-lined lashes, all traces of amusement gone from his eyes. "Elizabeth," he said slowly, "what happened, love?"

At the familiar mocking endearment, spoken in such a serious, almost gentle tone, she felt something rupture inside her, splintering with a physical pain, and the floodgates break wide. Elizabeth felt safe for the first time in endless hellish days, and with her fear went her resolve; her glass face shattered, and she let out a single, keening, "_Jack_," before bursting into deep, heaving sobs.

He put his arms round her shoulders and waist without a word, lifted her up with him and sat down with her on the decrepit chair. He held on as her body shuddered and shook with grief, a grave expression hardening his usually loose, ironic features. There were barely suppressed questions in his expressive eyes, but he bent his head, black hair falling over his face, and waited for the storm to abate.

In the corner, Oya watched over them with the barest hint of a smile in her wise eyes.

* * *

**AN:** Oya is the name of the Afro-Caribbean deity of wind and fire. I found it at h t t p : w w w . g a m i n g g e e k s . o r g / R e s o u r c e s / K a t e M o n k / E n g l a n d – C o l o n i e s / W e s t – I n d i e s . h t m

**OpraNoodlemantra:** Hey! Hope you haven't given up on me, though I wouldn't blame you. bites lip Sorry! I hope you like this chapter. More Abel, since you liked him. This isn't his final appearance by any means. What do you think of the shaman? I know the JE was brief, there'll be more in ch. 5. Thanks for the good wishes :o).

**padme17:** Thank you! Sorry about the long delay. I hope you like the new chapter, I know it's a bit different.

**carby luva 313: **He's here...finally, though briefly. God I love writing Jack. ;o) He's such a character, personality wise. Although the Depp-goodness is definitely tasty.

**Smartstar247:** Thanks! Here you go, the Sparrow! (Dude, did I just rhyme?) Let me know what you think of the developments... :o)

Let me know what you think of this chapter... the next - will be full of JE interaction. ;o)


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